Hurt
by imustnotthinkbadthoughts
Summary: Angsty songfic


"I love you." Lies. Every one of those three words was a motherfucking lie, and Brian knew it. He ran his hands through his long black hair, sobbing uncontrollably and completely fucking up his eyeliner. He closed his eyes, accidentally letting his mind take him back to what he had seen. Trent, who was supposed to be his, fucking some random whore. Brian's fingernails, sharp and painted black, dug into his palms as he let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper.

Pogo knocked on the locked door of the hotel room, breaking his train of thought. "Manson? You okay?", the drummer called, his tone worried. Brian didn't give a response, and soon, Pogo walked away.

Brian took a deep breath and sat up, walking over to the bathroom mirror and examining his tear-stained face. He took a minute to scoff at himself. "Pussy...", he muttered before digging around in a black bag and mumbling obscenities until he found a razor blade. Picking the sharp object up, he dug it into his left wrist, a dark red line forming with a few crimson droplets of blood trickling out.

He repeated this action a few times, glad to feel something other than this bitter numbness. He could remember a time when he felt... happiness, love. But that seemed like decades ago at this point. The pain got worse every time he cut, this bitter sting seeming like the only thing that was real in this nightmare.

"I hurt myself today to see if i still feel. I focus on the pain, the only thing that's real."

He kept going, trying to erase the memories of Trent with cocaine and self-harm, but he could still remember it all. The love, the pain. He held his head in his hands and sobbed, sucking the air in through his teeth as if he had forgotten how to breathe. Maybe he had.

"The needle tears a hole, the old familiar sting. Try to kill it all away, but I remember everything."

Outside of the hotel room, Brian could hear voices. He was pretty sure they weren't drug-induced hallucinations, anyways. No, they were definitely real. He could distinctly hear Twiggy's voice. "Brian? Yeah, I'm sure he's fine, I wouldn't worry about him." Then, the conversation turned to sex and drugs, and the topic of Brian was soon forgotten. Really? Even Jeordie? He knew it was unfair to expect people to know how he felt when he wouldn't tell him, but Jeordie always cared, always remembered, always noticed how dull his eyes were when he lied and said he was fine. What was this? What was he? Everyone was just going to leave him, weren't they? He should have expected this...

"What have I become? My sweetest friend. Everyone goes away... in the end."

Hours passed. Brian lay on the floor now, sobbing and in a pool of his own blood. Although it was a relatively small amount of blood, he felt like he was drowning in it. He had given everything to Trent: his heart, his soul, his trust. But no, this wasn't Trent's fault. If he hadn't betrayed his lover, let him down like this... Brian found himself weakly whispering the lyrics to a song that was, ironically, by Trent's band.

"And you could have it all. My empire of dirt. I will let you down. I will make you hurt." A bitter smile formed on his black painted lips. Maybe if he hadn't always said he was okay when he wasn't, this wouldn't have happened. He knew he was going to bleed out sooner or later, considering that he had cut deep. His mind was broken, the thoughts becoming half-formed and repetitive in his brain as it got harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

"I wear this crown of shit. Upon my liar's chair. Full of broken thoughts, I cannot repair."

Even the feelings of pain and heartbreak began to fade as blood continued to pour from his open wrists. It was like Trent didn't even exist... but he did, in Brian's heart, as long as he lived.

"Beneath the stains of time, the feelings disappear. You are someone else. I am still right here."

Meanwhile, Twiggy decided it had been too long since he had heard from his bandmate and best friend. He walked quickly without running (that way he would draw the minimal amount of attention to himself) to hotel room 666. How ironic. After knocking on the door a few times without receiving an answer, Twiggy slammed his side against the door and it creaked open. Thankfully, the door to the adjacent bathroom was left open just a crack. He slowly opened it to see Brian lying there on the floor, softly moaning.

"What have I become, my sweetest friend. Everyone goes away... in the end. And you could have it all, my empire of dirt. I will let you down. I will make you hurt."

Twiggy got on his knees and began to sob. "B-Brian!" Brian's breathing got raspier and fainter, and he could barely manage to twist his lips into an ironic smile and croak out his last words: "If I could s-start again... a m-million miles away... I would k-keep myself... I would find a way."

Trent decided to go see Brian, but when he got to the hotel room where his lover was staying, all he found was a crying Twiggy holding the door to the bathroom closed. "What the fuck? What's wrong, Twiggy?", Trent called, seemingly causing Twiggy to wake up from some metaphorical sleep. "H-h-he...", Twiggy stopped to sob, "h-he's dead..." "What? Who?"

Twiggy abruptly pulled on Trent's arm, dragging him into the bathroom. There, he saw a sight he would never in his life forget: the bloodied corpse of his love. He was tragically beautiful, even in death, and tears streaked down his face, smudging his normally perfect eyeliner. Sobs racked Trent's chest, his eyes widening. "HOW?!- WHAT?!" He screamed. "T-this has to be a joke! He CAN'T be dead!" Trent shook Brian, as if that could bring him back to life.

"He saw you making out with some whore while you were drunk, a-and he... killed himself...", Twiggy whispered, his voice cracking halfway through. Trent choked on tears and vomit, throwing up on the floor and collapsing into it while sobbing. "I-i love you... Brian..."

Actions


End file.
